


get your hands up high

by friday



Category: Block B, Show Me the Money (Korea TV), Winner (Band)
Genre: Gangbang (sort of), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 07:23:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4868174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friday/pseuds/friday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jiho has a list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	get your hands up high

**Author's Note:**

  * For [herocountry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herocountry/gifts).



They get an outline of the rest of the show after the individual assessments, even before they've filmed team selection. Everything but the top four has essentially been decided for them already, and the producers have even gone to the liberty of drawing faint stars next to some of the names.

"Promising final candidates," they clarify, when Jaebum protests. "No, Jaebum-sshi, we're not asking you to _cheat_ , of course not. They're just suggestions, that's all."

Suggestion, his ass. It's a fucking script, is what it is. Jaebum argues as much, running a hand through his hair in frustration. There are red lines cutting across the ink on the back of his hand from where he'd ripped off the body tape they'd tried covering his tattoos with before giving up. Jiho leans his head in his hand and thinks idly of sliding out of his chair to crawl under the table like he used to as a kid. He could nose his way along the inseam on Jaebum’s tight jeans into his lap. See how far Jaebum would let him go — if Jaebum would push his head away, maybe slap him off, or maybe he'd just let Jiho suck him off right here in the conference room, a welcome distraction from these weekly meetings, both infuriating and tedious.

Across the white expanse of the conference table, Jintae fumbles and drops his watch with a loud thud and Jiho's mind flickers away from the thought of Jaebum's bandage-sticky fingers in his mouth. The sound also makes Jaebum and the production assistant he’s arguing with pause for a second, looking down the table at Jintae who has his hands raised in apology, before starting up again. Jiho catches Seonwoong’s eye just as he’s choking down a laugh, and they shrug at each other — it's a losing battle Jaebum's fighting, if an admirable one. After all, this is Mnet. This is what they signed up for.

Jiho turns his attention to the list. Next to him, Sanghyun already has a pen and his phone out, cross-checking his notes against the Mnet list. Some of the starred names jump out to Jiho right away: Lil Boi. Mino. Hanhae. Ja Mezz. It reads like a fucking yearbook of rappers Jiho came up with, or came up admiring, and then some. The scope is impressive, as is the depth of talent, even from the rappers Jiho’s never heard of before in his life. Perhaps especially so. That feeling of pleasant surprise is the kind of thing that almost makes him want to jump to Jaebum’s defense, but Jiho's had a team in mind since they reached out to him with the producer offer and he made it very clear he wasn't going to do it unless he got at least half of whom he wanted. He’s positive the other producers have cut similar deals.

He sweeps his eyes down the list, making mental checkmarks. Jiho is pretty sure he’ll get almost his full wishlist, if not all. But first — he needs to make sure his dream team has made it, and with Mnet's blessing.

In addition to the obvious heavy-hitters, there are the rest: Andup, Incredivle, One. Oh, hell yeah. Jiho's getting his list.

$

Jiho makes a beeline for Hanhae the minute he steps foot in the dressing room. Hanhae's still waiting to be styled before the evaluation, legs stretched before him as he lounges on the couch. He's slouched down so far his chin hits his chest with every other word he spits out as he practices. Jiho has been put on personal camera duty today, and he shoves it in Hanhae's face as he drops into the seat next to him. "Say hi, hyung."

Hanhae snorts, pushing the camera away. "What are you doing?"

Jiho adjusts the angle of the camera, making sure to get a shot of himself pouting next to an unimpressed Hanhae. "Showing a different side of you," he says. "Smile, you're on Zico cam. Zicam?"

Hanhae makes a face, one eye on the camera. "Stick to rapping, Zi-a-co," Hanhae says in his Zico voice, gravelling his tone.

Jiho takes offense; he doesn't sound anything like that. He might have once upon a time, years ago, now during the earliest Block B days when they were throwing different concepts at the wall, hoping one of them would stick. This had been before everyone else, when Hanhae was still there, Minho too. Difficult days, but also some of the best of Jiho's life.

"Are you making fun of me?" he asks, voice light, even though he knows the answer already. Hanhae is totally making fun of him. "First you don't join my team, now you make fun of me? You're breaking my heart, hyung."

Hanhae shoots a warning look at the camera Jiho's holding, forgotten somewhere in his lap. "I'm nervous," Hanhae says by way of explanation, which isn't not an affirmation.

Jiho touches a hand to Hanhae's thigh, palming the firm muscle and feeling it jump. He thinks about swinging a leg over Hanhae's lap, maybe get a little cozy. Jiho thinks about Hanhae's thighs under Jiho's, his cock hard in between them, and he feels a thrill in the very tips of his fingers. Hanhae is just so _hot_ — Jiho’s always thought so. "I can help," he says with, it must be said, a bit of a leer. What? Jiho’s an opportunist, sue him.

Hanhae jerks away from him so abruptly the camera is jostled out of Jiho's grasp. "Jiho, Jesus," he says, stunned. "Come on. I'm trying to be serious here."

Jiho's already standing up, scooping up the camera. Hanhae's known for the ease of his nature, his friendliness. Jiho might have more friends, but Hanhae is liked by more people. It's been awhile since he's seen Hanhae lose his temper, and it makes him feel guiltier than he'd thought it would. "Hey, my bad," Jiho says, hoping it comes out as breezy as he wants it. "You know I’m just joking. You'll do well out there."

Hanhae sighs, reaching out to grip the back of Jiho's knee with a placating resolution. "Sorry," he murmurs. "I'm just stressed. We'll play after, okay?"

It's as good as a promise.

$

They know it's going to be Jaewon before rehearsals for the team challenge are over, even without the prompting of Mnet's not-script. He's been good, much better than probably anyone would have expected, and Jiho himself (and the mostly female production team) had played no small part in getting him back on the show, but Jiho sees the problem now of having chosen, and then been granted in full, excellence. If Jiho had two months to dedicate to exploring the promise of Jaewon’s potential — well. It would be a different story. But he and Sanghyun are trying to win in two months.

They take Jaewon out for barbecue and drinks afterwards, and order half the menu. It’s Sanghyun’s idea — he’d even maneuvered it so Jaewon was the only one still there when he brought up the idea, so it didn’t _seem_ like a consolation prize even though that's all it was. He was going to make a good dad one day; in the meantime, Jiho’s just happy to be along for the ride.

Jaewon had looked surprised, then pleased, letting out a flustered _thank you_. He tries to take over pouring duty when they arrive at the restaurant, but Jiho snatches the bottle out of his hand after he finishes filling up Sanghyun's cup.

"Let me," Jiho says, staring Jaewon down. "Humor me, Jaewon-ah, I'm your hyung."

Jaewon flushes, but the grin he gives Jiho is coy. "If you insist," he demures, lowering his eyelashes, and Jiho splashes soju in his cup with an amused snort. Jaewon had looked so taken aback the first time Jaebum and Hyukwoo called him good-looking that Jiho idly fashioned for him an ugly duckling childhood, a late case of puberty that helped him step into his features, a learning curve of attractiveness he was still tackling. Charming, but a bit dull, the same way all good-looking people unaware of their looks were. But they’d exchanged numbers after some filming, and Jaewon had responded to Jiho’s idle flirting with an archness that made Jiho sit up, literally. As in, he was in bed with his phone suspended precariously over his face when he got the first picture message from Jaewon, a screen-lit selca that made his face fuzzy and washed away the finer details of his hooded eyes and pouted lip, but did nothing to mar his attractiveness or stop Jiho from dropping his phone onto his face, the impact of his nose against the screen sending Jaewon a string of incoherent characters back.

After an hour of pictorial escalation that ended with a final Jaewon selca, his eyes closed and mouth open and slick, a tease of shirtlessness just under the edge of his camera’s reach, Jiho was squirming like a teenager, pressing the heel of his palm to his erection under his sheets, and trying to pretend like he wasn’t as he replied to Jaewon with the other hand.

All in all, an unexpected turn of character, though hardly an unwelcome one.

Jaewon’s youthful brazenness is exactly the kind that Jiho is a sucker for. The kind that settles himself down in his chair a little, his knee nudging at the inside of Jiho’s thigh. The kind that takes back the bottle of soju after Jiho’s done pouring, leaning forward so Jiho is forced to look down the wide collar of his v-neck. The kind that says, "Now let me do you," eyes on Jiho’s face as he tips soju into his cup, teeth white through his smile.

$

Jiho is being pulled along by the elbow down the dark karaoke lounge hallway, the sound of Cheolsu’s victory party still ringing in his ears. Jiho’s more than a little drunk, still stinging from defeat and raring to get rowdy, but he’s pretty sure Minho’s called him out to do something embarrassing, like give him a present or make a sentimental speech. It’s the only reason Jiho can think of for why Minho had clamped a hand around his forearm and pressed his hot mouth against Jiho’s ear during Team YG’s enthusiastic and tone-deaf cover of a 2NE1 song, saying in a low voice that he _had something to show you, hyung_ , and then, when Jiho didn’t respond, with a touch of a whine, said, _hyung, I wanted to talk to you alone, can you come with me?_ Jiho is trying very hard to head this off before any sentimental gift or speech-giving can occur — one, he doesn’t have anything for Minho; two, he already cried today, and is in no mood to start again — but not much is cutting through the haze of alcohol, beyond a half-hearted, "Minho — wait — the party —"

Minho glances over his shoulder and grins. "Don’t worry," he says cheerfully. "We’ll be back soon, I just want to show you something real quick."

Ah. It’s definitely a present, then. Jiho gives up, lets Minho drag him around the corner, where it’s a bit quieter, the rooms smaller. Knowing Minho, it’ll be something terribly corny but charming, like matching friendship beanies or matching friendship phone cases or matching friendship stick and pokes, which, actually, Jiho is kind of into. Minho has always been soft-hearted, clumsily well-meaning, but Jiho finds himself warming up to the idea now that he thinks about it, whether it be beanie or phone case or DIY tattoo. He’d forgotten how fun it was to hang out with Minho. How well they vibed and how easily they could speak to each other, how Minho was always happy to follow Jiho’s lead, even if he hadn’t figured out where Jiho was leading him to. Minho was a YG man now, better-dressed and better-postured, but the most luxurious leather products in the world couldn’t spoil Minho's sweetness.

Minho pulls him toward the karaoke room at the furthest end of the hall, Cheolsu's party little more than an afterthought.

"What is this," Jiho says, laughing as Minho opens the door and ushers him in. "Did you, like, what, get a cake? Am I about to get caked?" He fumbles for the light switch, but Minho closes his fingers over Jiho's.

"Nah," he says, voice a studied casualness. "You're not getting caked."

"What?" Jiho swallows, throat suddenly tight. It’s dark, and he still can’t clearly make out Minho in front of him. Jiho finds himself thinking, again, when did he find the time to grow so much? Minho's still as sweet on him as he's always been, but the physical changes in their relationship had thrown Jiho off his game, slightly. Minho has to bend his whole body to fold himself against Jiho's shoulder now, and his arms are so casually muscular Jiho had been surprised to look at him one day and realize Minho was at a size where he let Jiho manhandle him not because he couldn't stop it, but because he didn't mind it.

"I just wanted to say thank you," Minho continues, leaning forward. His features are nothing more than just slightly more pronounced shadows to Jiho, senses still dulled by alcohol, but Jiho can still see the stutter of Minho’s eyelashes.

"Uhhh," Jiho says, mind racing, tongue thick. He takes a reflexive step back —

— right into something, a _solid_ something, a fucking _person_ , if the hands that comes up to steady him are any indication.

"What the fuck!" Jiho yelps, not shrieks, startling. The hands around his waist tighten, and a laugh puffs out across his face. "What the fuck," Jiho says again, calmer this time, heart still hammering. "Hanhae?"

"You got it," Hanhae says, pulling Jiho back against him. Hanhae runs a soothing hand up and down his chest. "Sorry I scared you."

"Is this your surprise?" Jiho asks, pouting into the darkness in Minho’s direction. "A heart attack?"

Minho’s giggling, and the combination of Hanhae, warm and solid behind him, and Minho, warm and solid before him, gets redirected by the alcohol in his bloodstream straight to Jiho’s dick, already fattening in his sweatpants. Damn. He’d really hate to have to rub one out in a dirty karaoke bar bathroom like some kind of pervert, so this calls for more shots, and also maybe the sight of Seonwoong bodyrolling in an attempt to keep up with Jaebum.

"Okay," Jiho says, trying to wriggle out of Hanhae’s hold. "Haha. I get it. You punked me. Woo Jiho is a wuss. Can I leave now?"

"I’m not done with my surprise yet!" Minho says, and Hanhae walks the two of them to the long couch against the wall, arm still slung around his neck.

"What’s next," Jiho grumbles, stumbling over Hanhae’s feet. "It better be my dick in your mouth, Song Minho, because this isn’t funny — "

And then he stops, because Hanhae none-too-gently pushes him down. Jiho grits his teeth, waiting for the hard _whump_ of his ass against the couch, only it never comes. Instead, he lands right on a bony lap, an unmistakable erection against his hip.

"Hey, Jiho-hyung," Jaewon says cheerfully, like they just ran into each other in the fucking produce aisle or something, instead of in a dark karaoke room, Jaewon’s dick grinding up against Jiho, so hard he can feel it through the who-knows-how-many layers of fabric between them. "How about my dick in your mouth instead?"

"Yeah, Jiho," Hanhae says. He’s sitting next to Jaewon, one arm thrown casually around his shoulders, hand dangling just a breath away from Jiho’s throat. Then he’s leaning over, the hand closest to Jiho coming up to cup the back of Jaewon’s head. When Hanhae pulls Jaewon in for a kiss, filthy and open-mouthed, Jiho jumps like he’s been electrified, letting out a small, helpless _ah_. Hanhae’s mouth slides against Jaewon’s with an obscene slick, before pulling off. "How ‘bout it?"

"Uh," Jiho says, mind still reeling. "I — what? I mean, what?" Jaewon’s hand ghosts over his lap, just shy of touching Jiho’s rapidly growing erection. At least one part of him seems to have caught up.

Minho chuckles, and Jiho startles again — he’d almost forgotten who it was who’d lured him here in the first place. "It’s not a hard question, Jiho," Minho chides. And then he’s kneeling on the probably-gross floor, pulling up the hem of Jiho’s sweatshirt, leaning forward to lick at the middle knob of Jiho’s spine. When he gets to the dip of Jiho’s lower back, he sucks hard enough to hurt. Jiho’s head is still swimming from the alcohol, plus now the overload of sensory information. He’s holding himself so tightly his body feels like one clenched muscle, vibrating with the tension.

Hanhae’s the one who notices. "Hey," he says, gentle, leaning in to touch foreheads with Jiho. He’s so close that the millimeters between them seem suddenly negligible, as if there’s a difference between Hanhae’s mouth that close to his and Hanhae’s mouth on his. It seems as good an invitation as any, so Jiho nudges the few millimeters between them closed, the tension feeling like it’s leaving his body with every second he has his mouth against Hanhae’s and Minho’s big hands up and down his back, Jaewon’s dick digging into his hip.

Call him a romantic, but making out has always soothed Jiho.

"You okay?" Jaewon asks, the concern in his voice somewhat mitigated by the sweatshirt he’d just pulled over Jiho’s head.

Jiho thinks about it for a second, even though he raises his arms obligingly to let Jaewon shuck his t-shirt off, too. Is he okay with it? Is he okay with the prospect of Jaewon’s dick in his mouth? With Hanhae bent over him, maybe Minho’s rough fingers inside him too, why not, Jiho so full that every breath brings tears to his eyes? What kind of question is that?

"Hell yeah," Jiho says, twisting out of Jaewon’s lap to lie back against the couch, splaying his legs. He runs a hand down his chest, knowing full well the struggle of seeing clearly in the dark, how much harder Jaewon, Minho, and Hanhae are going to have to look to get the whole picture. He pops the top button of his jeans, tugs them a little lower on his hips. "Who’s first?"

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhhhhh I don't know what this is. I'm sorry, don't look at me. I barely know who Minho and Jiho are, much less Jaewon or Hanhae. I'm sorry. Happy birthday, Zico. Happy birthday, [herocountry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/herocountry), thanks for contributing to the kickstarter!! Title from Zico/Palo Alto/Mino's Moneyflow.


End file.
